


Midnight

by LogicBox



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: I don't even know anymore, M/M, No Dialogue, Romance, as other pairings?, can be seen, erotic poetic?, or maybe not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2021-01-01 22:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicBox/pseuds/LogicBox
Summary: Midnight.It’s his favourite time of the day and night.





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Just needed a little get-away from all the angsty feels in You Took My Heart, thus this little baby was born. Also, wanted to try writing something without any dialogue in it, so there it is.

Midnight.

It’s his favourite time of the day and night.

The moon slowly making its way up on the sky, spreading the night’s blanket and darkening the horizon. Welcoming and beckoning every living being to rest and breath its own essence into what will shape another brand new day.

And at the end of said old day, he always stays.

Stays, simply to watch the being sleeping right beside him.

How the first rays of the white globe illuminate the lighter brown flecks in his hair, making them that much more prominent against the white sheets.

How the pale of his skin is being colored by the pallet of cool shades, from whites to midnight blues.

How the glow of the moon surrounds the man, allowing him the privilege of seeing the truest form of the ethereal being, unbound by rules and rationality itself.

Because, everything else put aside, that’s exactly who he is to him.

A persona too good and great for this small world called Earth.

And yet, here he is.

Laying next to him, no less.

And the guilty pleasure of being able to witness each rise and fall of his slender, yet muscular chest. The minuscule flutters of his long eyelashes. The barely visible twitches of the skin hiding the universe’s widest grins.

To the outside world, it may seem as if he’s simply watching his prey. Remembering and calculating the best and most delicious way to devour the poor victim.

He feels like an animal, true, but animals don’t know _sin,_ do they?

Yet the thoughts filling every single cell and pouring out of his body are everything, but pure.

One could not gaze upon a beauty of this kind and do not desire and lust after it.

And the moments when those eyes open, and his world is filled with the color of galaxy indigo.

He treasures them, too.

In all honesty, there is absolutely nothing he doesn’t treasure about him.

When they lay that way for a while, breathing together, watching the shadows flicker over the walls and each other's faces. He plays with a wild curl of his hair, wrapping it around his finger. It should have been awkward, -he caught him watching - but somehow it wasn't.

They feel something moving between them, like light or heat, growing with every breath that passes their slightly dry lips.

And so sweet and delicious does he become, when he’s in bed with a man who - he senses - loves and enjoys him, that the pleasure they bring each other - the softest of brushes, caresses and kisses - excels all delight.

So the knot of love - however tight it seemed before - is tied tighter still.

Binding and pushing.

Molding the two beings into one, until finally, they’re joined together in a moment of passion and ecstasy.

Claiming each other.

Marking each other.

And he lets him.

Stripping himself of all that restrains him, showing the man his truest self.

Until they reach it.

The highest and most complicated moment in time, when two halves finally join together to give birth to that, which has been foreseen in the times long forgotten.

And the way he stares hard. Not at him, but at their reflection in the lit up glass, watching. In his galaxy indigo pupils, in the firm twist of his lips, is reflected that other part of him, bathing in the afterglow of what each of them bestowed upon the other.

And those moments.

Those seemingly small and not important moments are stored away in the corners of his - occupied by no one but him - heart.

His labored breathing.

The erratic beating of his heart.

The sweaty - yet relaxed - brows.

The tousled, fiery strands he is so fond of placing kisses on.

The high temperature of their bodies as he lays next to, or on top of him.

Those and much more, are what makes his life worth living.

What makes him, him.

Because the day he met him, is the day by which all others were, and shall continue to be measured.


End file.
